


Morality

by Vasilisian



Series: Loving a Witcher [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, How Do I Tag, How to cope with your lovers dangerous career, Idiots in Love, Jaskier and Yennefer bond over Geralt's risky life, Jaskier's Dubious Mortality, Jaskier: Have sex with his second lover, M/M, Multi, So he gets a little immortality, This is based on the TV series' little messup of not aging Jaskier at all, Yennefer: You don't, as a treat, but it's not explicit, he would like you to know he can very much bleed out if you stab him, mostly fade to black kind of stuff, not true immortality though, so please don't do that, some sexy stuff happenes, there's also a bit of angst, this is also the start of the yenneferxjaksier part of the tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25666429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vasilisian/pseuds/Vasilisian
Summary: Yennefer notices some things about Jaskier now that she's spending more time with him, and asks Geralt a question that rocks his world. They debate some options before being interrupted by the subject of their conversation, who'd been enjoying a post-sex nap.Or, my answer to TV!Jaskier's lack of aging, with some angst and bonding between Yenn and Jaskier thrown in for fun.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Loving a Witcher [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861024
Comments: 3
Kudos: 166





	Morality

“Are you sure he's human?” Geralt hummed, still coming down from the high of being with both of his lovers together for the first time. Jaskier lay with his head pillowed on his stomach, body splayed every-which way, taking up as much space on Yennefer's bed as possible. Said woman was curled up against his side, idly tracing patterns on his chest while staring at Jaskier.

“Geralt, I'm serious.” Her voice drew him from his daze, frowning as he thought over her question. The hand that had been stroking through Jaskier's hair stilled, and even as he turned his gaze to Yennefer, some part of him couldn't help but admire the lush brown color.

“Why do you think he's not?”

“He doesn't age.”

“Of course he ages, have you heard him complain about his knees? And you commented on his wrinkles yourself.”

“I thought they were, but I'm not so sure. They might be stress-lines, not wrinkles. And anyone would complain about their knees if they had to keep up with you. But you've known him for twenty-five years, Geralt. And he'd only seen eighteen summers when you met, by his own admission. Which should make him forty-three, yet those that don't know him always judge him to be in his twenties.”

Geralt felt something clench in his chest, but he couldn't even begin to identify what it was. Relief? Worry? Betrayal? He'd never thought about the fact that Jaskier hadn't changed in appearance since they'd met, not a single gray hair to betray his age, too uncomfortable with thinking of his friend and lover as a mortal, aging being.

Yet now he couldn't deny that it didn't make sense for a human to age as gracefully as Jaskier had.

“I... don't know. I didn't- I never wanted to think about his age, how short his life-span was. I always thought I'd be felled before age took him. But... his hair. If nothing else, his hair should be graying.” They both looked down at the man peacefully drooling on Geralt's stomach, but both knew what they'd see. A perfectly ordinary mop of brown hair that had no place belonging to a man of forty-three years.

“The lute? It was a gift from an elf, maybe it's enchanted.” He suggested, not feeling as shocked as he should be.

“No, I've held that thing, there's not a single spark of magic to be found. Maybe his bloodline? His ears aren't pointed, but there could be some elf in him.” Geralt was shaking his head before she even finished.

“If there's enough elf blood to affect his aging, there would be more physical signs. I've seen none. I'm more inclined to guess some kind of sea being, maybe a mermaid. It would explain how his singing manages to entrance even the most stubborn.” Yennefer hummed, her own hand reaching down to stroke Jaskier's head.

“Maybe. I'd be able to figure it out easily enough if I took some of his blood, but...” But she didn't want to do it without permission. The realization nearly felt him breathless, because even two weeks ago she wouldn't have hesitated to take whatever she needed to figure out what kept Jaskier from aging. Yet here she was, extending the same courtesy she gave Geralt to Jaskier.

He couldn't keep himself from tilting her head up and claiming her lips, a surge of heat shooting through him when she responded in kind without hesitation. She propped herself up on her arms so she was leaning over him at an angle, trying not to nudge, while both his hand came up to cup her face. The kiss was just growing heated when a voice interrupted.

“What a view to wake up to.” They jerked apart, eyes shooting to look down at relaxed Jaskier, who was looking at them with hooded eyes and a lazy smile.

“Oh no, don't stop on my account. Unless you're planning to include me, in which case I'm going to need a moment. My stamina isn't what it used to be.” Yennefer snorted, but Geralt eyed Jaskier with suspicion.

“How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough to hear Yennefer kindly restrain herself from taking my blood. Thank you for that, I appreciate not waking up with a lover-inflicted stab-wound. Once is enough for me.” Yennefer rolled her eyes, sitting up on the bed. She was still naked, brown skin glistening faintly with sweat and love-bites scattered over her delicate shoulders, and for a moment Geralt was tempted to forget about the conversation and pull her down on top of him.

She noticed his gaze, and pulled the sheets up to cover herself with an exasperated sigh.

“Geralt, don't you think we have something more important to focus on right now? Like the secret immortality of your friend, perhaps?” Jaskier finally moved at that, stretching without care before also sitting up. He looked as good as Yennefer, pale skin stretching over thin muscle. His legs were strong from years of wandering and running, and the memory of them wrapped around his waist was enough to stir warmth in his belly.

“I'm not immortal.” Yennefer glared at him with eyes that had made lesser men cower in fear. Jaskier just smiled back.

“Truly, I'm not. I can be killed, just like the both of you. My lack of aging is the only thing my great grandmother passed onto me.” Geralt startled at the easy admission, twitching slightly. Two hands immediately came to rest on him, a pale on of his knee and a brown one on his shoulder. Neither looked at him, yet the touches were enough for any tension to seep out of his body.

“Passed on? In what way?”

“It's a gift bestowed upon my family. A few centuries ago, one of my ancestors charmed some kind of supernatural being with a song so good no one it allowed no other to hear it. But the being knew it would live far longer than it's chosen love, so they blessed him with a lifespan that would match their own.”

“So your great grandmother passed it on to you? Why not her child?”

“She never agreed with my grandmother's choice of husband, worsened by my grandfather's demand to move them away from our ancestral home. My father... has strong opinions about certain matters, and as such she never considered him, but I've a special connection with her. When I visited and told her of you, she passed the blessing on to me.” Jaskier looked down at him as he spoke the last words, a deep love obvious in his eyes. It made Geralt feel like he was being pinned to the bed, yet he could not bring himself to want to escape.

“What of your great grandmother? Did she die?” Jaskier, who had been slowly running his hand up Geralt's leg, paused to look at Yennefer.

“She passed, a few days after. I mourned her, of all my family I loved her most, but she had lived a good, long life. I tried not dwell on grief, rather remembering the vibrant woman at she was.” And suddenly Geralt remembered. He'd run into Jaskier at an inn after a simple hunt, and the man had looked strangely somber. They'd talked, and he'd mentioned the death of a family member in passing, but he'd forgotten it after his later confession.

“The night you told me you loved me. That was after her death.” Jaskier hummed, hand tightening on Geralt's thigh.

“I was a little drunk, being honest. Not on drink, but on the power of the blessing. It's no small thing, the magic needed to keep aging at bay. Humans are fragile creatures.” Jaskier had changed, after that. It was only now that he could see it, but the magic had done more than stop his aging. His speech had become more lyrical, something he'd always thought was because he composed so many songs. And while it hadn't been obvious at the time, he'd also because just a little tougher.

“So now we've got that all figure out, I do believe we were busy with something.” Yennefer purred, dropping the sheet. Jaskier laughed, and oh. How hadn't he noticed the way it sounded like spring? Then the hand on his thigh moved higher, and all thought of blessings and musical laughs was lost.

–

“Don't think I didn't notice your wording.” Now it was Geralt who was soundly asleep, thoroughly worn out by his two lovers. Yennefer was cleaning herself with a wet cloth, wiping off sweat and other substances, while Jaskier relaxed in the small tub she had in her tent.

“Did you?”

“The being blessed your ancestor with a lifespan to match his own. And your great grandmother only passing on the blessing after you told her about Geralt.” Jaskier smiled, meeting Yennefer's eyes with his bright ones.

“I can see why you're so terrifying, nothing slips past you. Yes, it's not just that we all live as long as the being. The blessing matches our lifespans to the race of the one we love. She loved an elf, and thus aged like one. Unless I'm killed, I'll live as long as a witcher.” He frowned. “How long that it, I don't actually know.”

“From what I know, they can live for centuries. Most don't, they're killed by some beast long before that, but some do make it that far.”

“Centuries?” He looked over at Geralt, eyes lingering on the thick scars that covered almost every part of him.

“Horrifying, isn't it?” Jaskier met Yennefer's eyes, which were strangely understanding. “The thought of outliving him?”

The water suddenly felt cold, and he wrapped his arms around himself.

“How do you cope with it?” She shrugged one robe-clad shoulder, grabbing a brush from the vanity and starting on her hair.

“I didn't. Rather than face the fact that it would kill me if he died, I ran from my love for him. Hid from it, denied it, I did anything I could to not face that bone-chilling fear. It didn't work, as you know, but I still tried. And I guess that somewhere along the way I must have decided that it would be worth it to love him.”

She noticed his shiver, the water heating with a mutter and wave of her hand, but Jaskier climbed out without a word. Grabbing the nearby towel, he tied it around his waist as he walked over to Yennefer. Without pausing, he leaned down and kissed her, shaky hands clasping the edged of her robe. She stilled, then kissed back, pulling him down until he had no choice but to put a knee on the chair between her legs.

“You'll be okay. It'll take some time, but you love him. There's no other choice.” She wiped his tears with her thumbs, standing up only to pull him down onto the furs covering the ground. He clung to her, pouring his fear and desperation into his every action, splaying his heart open for her to see, begging her to sooth him, and with inexperienced hands she did.

Whispers passed between them, confessions of fears, sins, of love for the man sleeping mere feet from them. The robe tore at some point, caught on the chair, but neither noticed, caught up in the troughs of finding someone that understood what it was like to love a man like Geralt. And unnoticed under it all, like a small bud under a layer of snow, was something new. A start.


End file.
